Me

I can count my age on my mommy and daddy’s fingers. I am at once incredibly socially awkward and morbidly self assured. I grew up sleeping with money. My fathers eyes look like silver dollars and his hands feel like office papers and wrinkled bills. My mom looks thirty years younger than she is.

When I was a freshman in high school I spat in a kids face and he and all of his asshole friends beat me up after school. They gave me two black eyes and seven and a half bruised ribs. That night I stole my parents Beemer (after they had fallen asleep) and drove to my attackers house. I poured four gallons of mud and V8 Splash into his Mercedes gas tank. The next day I heard that his car broke down halfway to school.

Besides that I didn’t too many bad things before the age of 18. I didn’t drink, smoke, have sex, forget my homework, have friends or go to parties.

I guess I’m an extremist. Sobriety or rehab. Throbbing nightclub or solitude. Orgasms or depression. Prostitution or virginity.